


Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves

by MJ (mjr91)



Category: Dresden Files (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjr91/pseuds/MJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A teen Harry Dresden decides to have an important conversation with the most important person in his life.  Neither expects the results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wtchcool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wtchcool/gifts).



> The title source, of course, is Oscar Wilde's "Ballad of Reading Gaol."
> 
> For Wtchcool, because she squeed all over my teen Harry elsewhere.

Life at the Morningway estate was highly unlike life almost anywhere else imaginable, especially for a teenage boy. Much as teens normally hated school, Harry Dresden found it nearly a relief. For one thing, there were people around, some of whom paid attention to him. At the Morningway estate north of the city, his Uncle Justin normally was away and paid little attention to him when Justin was home. The servants were there, but weren't there; they certainly didn't sit down and talk to you. The only person there who did care, who was more than happy to stay with him for hours to talk, could be worse than Mrs. McGinniss, his civics teacher, for non-stop prattling and lecturing.

But at least Bob cared. Mrs. McGinniss only cared if you were listening enough to pass the quizzes and tests she never tired of heaping on helpless students. Mrs. McGinniss didn't want to hear your problems; Bob listened, and always gave some kind of advice. Admittedly, it wasn't always helpful – there was only so much Fourteenth Century courtship information that could be applied to asking a girl to a school dance – but unlike everyone else, he tried.

And he was a lot cooler than Harry's few school friends. None of them, after all, were ghosts. All of them were roughly his age, while Bob was older and had actually done things – some of them even before he'd died. Unlike Harry's friends, Bob actually knew what sex was; he'd actually done it, which was pretty awe-inspiring and seemed a lot better than Uncle Justin, because who'd have sex, at least voluntarily, with Justin Morningway? If Bob was to be believed, he'd had it… a lot. With servants, who must have been a lot hotter than anyone Justin hired, and with serving wenches, and a sorceress or two, and a Lady Marguerite, and a couple of princesses even, one of whom was the King's youngest daughter and one of whom was French, and neither of whom ever did anything important enough to wind up in history books in school.

In fact, Bob – Hrothbert of Bainbridge, as Justin kept reminding Harry for some reason – seemed to have had a lot more experience than that, not that having sex with serving wenches and ladies and a real princess wasn't a lot more experience than Harry had, or than he figured Justin had, or than probably pretty much anybody had. But that was the experience he didn't tell Harry about. Harry knew that Bob was leaving something out of his stories, the ones he told Harry when Harry asked questions about sex, and Bob gave remarkably illustrative answers that were a hell of a lot more useful than his health class teacher did during sex ed and also provided enough masturbatory fodder for a dozen horny teenagers. He knew that Bob was leaving something out because Bob would sometimes check himself in the middle of a story. Bob would drop a story and substitute another, or do the speaking equivalent of going back three spaces, or pause briefly and then start speaking very consciously, as if he were paying strict attention to his own words and maybe editing something.

Harry was quite certain that between what Bob had accomplished in life and had apparently watched during his death, he knew a hell of a lot more about sex, most of it first-hand or close enough to it, than Mr. Carson was able to imagine.

Besides, he could ask Bob questions that would probably inspire Mr. Carson to call Uncle Justin and worry about Harry, or ones that he didn't want his friends to hear being asked, and Bob didn't want to know why Harry wanted to know something like that (all right, Bob had raised an eyebrow when Harry had asked the question about sheep, but damn it, Bob had answered it, and actually had a story about a sheep, too, although he'd insisted it had been another apprentice and not him personally) and didn't seem to judge Harry for the questions (yeah, all right, Bob had given him the hairy eyeball when the sheep question came up, even though he hadn't looked askance at the question the previous Halloween about sex with corpses… but they'd sort of been joking about Halloween stuff when he'd asked it). He could definitely ask Bob the questions he didn't want to ask Uncle Justin under any circumstances whatsoever, and Bob had made it abundantly clear that he didn't pass such things on to Justin Morningway.

All of which was why he was sitting down with Bob now. Because he had questions, and they were big ones, and they were ones his friends didn't need to hear, and neither did Uncle Justin, and after five years of living with him, Harry was pretty sure that if he could trust anyone in his entire life with this particular conversation, it was Bob. Bob wouldn't hate him afterwards, or be scared of him, or for him, and Bob wouldn't accuse him of ruining all of his family's plans. Bob would let him know that everything was all right, and if it wasn't all right, Bob would know the spell to make it all right.

And so he took a deep breath and picked up Bob's skull after dinner that night, carrying it out on a balcony with him during a particularly beautiful early twilight. "Hey, uh, Bob."

There was a swirl of smoke and a shower of gold sparkles, as always, and Bob was there on the balcony with him, resplendent in a gray jacket with deep maroon velvet collar and cuffs, and a gold-embroidered maroon velvet vest, the kind Bob called a waistcoat, and a deep navy silk shirt. He wore a silk ascot at his throat in a riot of blues and golds, and a pocket square, puffed out at the top, that matched it perfectly. Bob always dressed like nobody's business, and it was pretty amazing. Harry guessed that when you didn't always have a lot else to do, maybe you spent a lot of time doing what Bob called accessorizing your wardrobe. The school uniform at the Academy, though, didn't allow for a lot of accessorizing, and Harry wasn't sure why accessorizing was as vital as Bob seemed to think it was. Bob always looked a lot like the pictures of Victorian writers Harry saw in his textbooks, and if Bob was to be believed, he'd known most of the people in the pictures personally, including that Wilde guy who liked to dress up himself.

"Hello, Harry. It's a remarkable evening out here, is it not?" Bob moved about to create an illusion – Bob said it was an illusion, but it didn't remind Harry of his dad's illusions – that he was sitting beside Harry on the window ledge. "Are we out here for the sole purpose of taking the air – which would be sufficient reason itself on a night like this – or have you some purpose in mind for removing us from earshot of the rest of the household?"

"If I did, what would you tell Uncle Justin?"

Bob smiled and shook his head. "You know very well that your astronomical skills are weak, Harry, and so does your uncle. It seems to me that this should be an excellent night for stargazing. In fact, I'm extremely glad I thought of doing that this evening."

"Thanks, Bob."

"Think nothing of it, Harry. Every boy your age needs someone he can talk to privately. Which means, without it going right back to his family. If I could do nothing else for you, I am happy to do that."

"You do a lot more than that, Bob."

"I can only hope so. And what might I do for you this evening?"

"I… um. I… I think…"

"You do? I'm impressed. I so rarely see indications of it."

Harry snorted. "Very funny. And you're distracting me. This one's important."

Bob raised an eyebrow, folded his hands in his lap, and tilted his head to indicate that he was listening intently. There was nothing worse than treating an adolescent as if his concerns didn't matter. As long as the boy hadn't gotten a non-wizarding young lady pregnant, and he hadn't been arrested, nothing was too serious to handle, but Harry still needed to be treated with respect, especially as he received so little of it elsewhere. "Go on – I shan't interrupt."

His charge drew in a deep breath, his stomach in knots. This was going to be difficult enough, even with Bob; he might as well just get it over with. "IthinkIlikeaguy."

The words came out as a near-blur. "Harry. Do you think you might repeat that slowly enough for me to interpret it?"

Now that he'd said it once, the repetition was easier, though no louder. "I think I like a guy."

And in fact, Bob did not blink, nor did his expression change in the slightest. "Ah. As much as you like the young lady you asked to your school dance, more than that, or less than that?"

"Kinda more."

Bob nodded. "Very well, then. Thank you for telling me. Did you merely wish me to know this information, or did you wish to discuss what to do about improving your position, if needed, with the object of your affections?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I was sort of expecting a 'how could you' lecture."

"How could you? The mechanics of the acts are fairly simple – not much different than with a woman, although certainly one doesn't perform fellatio upon a member of the fair sex… unless, of course –"

"Bob!" Harry was blushing. "I meant the thundering disapproval and outrage lecture."

His mentor looked at him, bemused. "Why would I? An attraction to men is no different than an attraction to women, Harry. There's certainly nothing wrong with it other than the narrow views of the prejudiced. I would recommend you not necessarily shout it out in the streets, or in your school hallways, primarily because of that, but it's a perfectly natural thing to be attracted to one's own sex. I believe it would upset your uncle, because he has a specific desire to see the Morningway line continue and you are the only heir, but beyond that, there is nothing wrong with your having an interest in another young man. Does he reciprocate your affections?"

Now Harry's face was even more red than before. "He doesn't know. And he's… he's not so young. I don't think."

Well, that was nothing new. Young men had formed attachments to older ones since the beginning of history, and vice versa, and certainly the world had not ended because of it. At least, such were Bob's considerations. Harry's knowledge of the world was not as great, of course. "Ah. Is he an adult, then?"

"Yeah." Harry was looking down now, embarrassed.

"May I ask – is it one of your teachers?" Harry didn't have a wide pool of adults surrounding him, after all, and none of the High Council members Bob had met were worthy of the attentions or affections of a lovely young man such as Harry.

"Yeah."

Bob judged that it might be time to open a door he'd consciously chosen to keep closed around his charge. "When I was a boy, it was fairly common for apprentices to have relationships of one sort or another with their masters, who, as you know, were their teachers. Times now are not as they were then – when I say relationships, you must not imagine that there was any affection or romantic sentiment involved; apprentices were used for their master's convenience, whether they were sent to feed the horses, or taken to warm their masters' beds. It was not considered improper then, as most consider it now, but it was not so pleasant as it would be now, as there was no 'liking' involved, only the master's pleasure and not the boy's." He paused, reminiscing. "My master thought himself a good man, but he did not care how I felt, what I wanted, or for whether I enjoyed the act. In fact, with him, I did not. It was not until some years later that I came to realize that sex with another man could be pleasurable for both of them."

Harry was wide-eyed. "You?"

Bob smiled indulgently. "Surely you have noted that I was hardly a monk when I was alive. My tastes have always run in both directions." A sudden concern crossed his mind. "That does not disturb you, does it?"

"No, no… uh… not at all. I'm just… surprised. All your stories have been about… well, girls."

"Only because I omitted a substantial number of stories, Harry. I have had roughly equal experience with both sexes. As I had no reason to think that there was anything you might learn from my experience with men, I saw no reason to relate those stories to you."

Harry nodded, pondering all of this. It was a great deal to take in – not only was Bob not alarmed but accepting, but he and Bob shared this? That thought was almost overwhelming.

Bob was more concerned about the matter at hand. "Your teacher – do you have any reason to think that he might be interested in you?"

Oh, back to that. How to answer? "I don't know. I'd like to think so. But I… I only found out today… that it was even possible he might like guys at all."

"He has not approached you, then? In this time, unlike when I was your age, it seems to be considered improper for a teacher to proposition his student."

Harry looked crestfallen. "No, he hasn't. I understand he shouldn't, but… I wish…"

Bob's face was a study in complete sympathy. "I know that it is hardly proper to suggest such a thing, but…difficult as it sounds… since you seem sure that he is capable of reciprocating your feelings, whether he does so or not… perhaps you might be so bold as to indicate your interest in some way. Then at least you will know for sure, and if he does reject you, at least you know where you stand with him. Sometimes, despite embarrassment, it is easier in the long run to stick one's neck out and take the rejection."

"I couldn't." Harry wrapped his arms around himself. "I – I can't. He… he can't reject me. It'd kill me."

"My dear boy, I'm well aware of how painful it is to be rejected by a hoped-for lover. It is utterly horrible, and I know that well, having been rebuffed more than once in my own life. However, it does not, in fact, literally kill one."

"It might kill me. I'm not making that up, Bob – I mean it."

Adolescents' feelings were so strong; they were always so vulnerable. Had it always been so? It must have been, though Bob couldn't recall it. Still, was the protestation real, or merely expression of pain? "And how is that, my dear?"

"Because you're already the only person who really cares what happens to me!" Harry swung his feet back inside the window and ran.

"Oh, Harry." It was not a call but a whisper, aimed not as much at Harry as at himself. Having said what he had about teachers, had he risked an inevitable doom of his own? If a ghost had a heart that could break, there would be shards everywhere, he knew.

Bob sat there still, his skull nearby at his feet. It didn't worry him –if Harry failed to come back for him, his absence would be noted and he'd be retrieved in the morning, if not before; if questions were asked, he would, of course, lie to protect Harry in whatever ways he could.

Even if it rained, water would not hurt his skull, and rain was unlikely as the night was fine… yet surely it must be raining slightly for a face to be wet while sitting outdoors as he was.


End file.
